“We don’t let to ladies,” they said. "She may yet be saved. ‘Not yet, madame. Sebastian leapt down into the crypt. You have neither reason nor logic. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly.
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